family. Not one word about Mom dying.
Yeah, that was a day for the history books.
Years later, that was the day I tried to capture on canvas. The first part, the flowers and my mom’s soft smile. The rest? Not so much.
# # #
It wasn’t until the music switched off that I realized I
wasn’t alone in the art room anymore. The sudden silence snapped me back to today,
the painting in front of me a faded study of a faded memory.
Glancing up, I funneled my sadness into an anger I didn’t
know I had in me. It pounded through my body and over every nerve ending like a
summer rain, hard and deafening. When I saw Luke Parker standing there, looking
around as if he’d never seen a high school art room before, I almost threw my
brushes at him.
“ What are you
doing here?” I didn’t have the time or energy to show him any type of patience.
This was my place. My
sanctuary. And wasn’t he supposed to be at a stupid seniors-only pool
party?
“I thought I’d see what was so interesting you’d skip
hanging out with your boyfriend and
his buddies.”
I swung toward the jar of soapy water and swirled my brush
until it came away clean. Without facing him, I answered. “He’s not my
boyfriend.”
Luke was closer than I expected when he replied.
“No. You aren’t his girlfriend, but I’m not so sure about
the other way around.”
The sound of his footsteps neared and I spun to face him as
he moved to step past the easel, to come around to my side of the painting. My space behind the canvas. I raised a hand in front of me,
the movement so abrupt it caught his attention.
“Stop,” I said. “No more.”
I shook my head at the words. No more. No more questions. No more pushing. No more steps toward
the only four square feet of Earth I considered my own.
Most people would have pushed, urged me to let them see, questioned why they couldn’t.
Luke’s gaze didn’t leave mine. It didn’t slide toward the
canvas trying to catch a peek of what I worked on. He just nodded once and
stepped back.
My breath rushed out in a huff. “Thank you.”
He nodded again, as if he got it.
“So, this is what you do? Where you go?”
“If you mean, do I come here to get my painting done, then the
answer is yes.”
“No. I meant , this is where you
come to hide and work things out? Where even the few people you can’t hide from
leave you alone?”
I stilled to the point of fearing my heart had stopped.
“How dare you.” I came around the canvas at him. “How dare
you show up a few days ago and provoke and question me about my entire life.
You don’t know anything .”
“So you aren’t here avoiding all those people at the pool?
Avoiding watching Kent ooze his way around that cheerleader?”
“Why would I care what a group of people I hardly know
does?” I fisted my hands trying to make them stop shaking.
“You don’t care that the guy who turns on the charm for you
when he thinks no one is looking is doing the same thing for a bikini clad
cheer-dealer as we speak? You don’t care that every senior on the field today
is there but you?”
“I wasn’t invited, alright?” My answer echoed off the walls
in the sudden silence. “I wasn’t invited,” I repeated more quietly.
Luke stepped toward me. “Amy…”
I raised my hand again—protecting myself this time, not my
painting. “Don’t.”
“Amy, he isn’t worth it. I don’t know what’s going on, but
it obviously isn’t good for you.” Luke came toward me and didn’t stop this time
when I waved my hand in front of me. “He isn’t one of the good guys, and you
deserve the best. Even I can see that already.”
I had no idea I was crying until his hand came up and
brushed a tear away.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Not for him.”
He looked like he wanted to do more, to say more, but that
word-searching look crossed his face again and he just stood there, looking
down at me, invading my sanctuary.
The too-much feeling washed over
Yeah, that was a day for the history books.
Years later, that was the day I tried to capture on canvas. The first part, the flowers and my mom’s soft smile. The rest? Not so much.
# # #
It wasn’t until the music switched off that I realized I
wasn’t alone in the art room anymore. The sudden silence snapped me back to today,
the painting in front of me a faded study of a faded memory.
Glancing up, I funneled my sadness into an anger I didn’t
know I had in me. It pounded through my body and over every nerve ending like a
summer rain, hard and deafening. When I saw Luke Parker standing there, looking
around as if he’d never seen a high school art room before, I almost threw my
brushes at him.
“ What are you
doing here?” I didn’t have the time or energy to show him any type of patience.
This was my place. My
sanctuary. And wasn’t he supposed to be at a stupid seniors-only pool
party?
“I thought I’d see what was so interesting you’d skip
hanging out with your boyfriend and
his buddies.”
I swung toward the jar of soapy water and swirled my brush
until it came away clean. Without facing him, I answered. “He’s not my
boyfriend.”
Luke was closer than I expected when he replied.
“No. You aren’t his girlfriend, but I’m not so sure about
the other way around.”
The sound of his footsteps neared and I spun to face him as
he moved to step past the easel, to come around to my side of the painting. My space behind the canvas. I raised a hand in front of me,
the movement so abrupt it caught his attention.
“Stop,” I said. “No more.”
I shook my head at the words. No more. No more questions. No more pushing. No more steps toward
the only four square feet of Earth I considered my own.
Most people would have pushed, urged me to let them see, questioned why they couldn’t.
Luke’s gaze didn’t leave mine. It didn’t slide toward the
canvas trying to catch a peek of what I worked on. He just nodded once and
stepped back.
My breath rushed out in a huff. “Thank you.”
He nodded again, as if he got it.
“So, this is what you do? Where you go?”
“If you mean, do I come here to get my painting done, then the
answer is yes.”
“No. I meant , this is where you
come to hide and work things out? Where even the few people you can’t hide from
leave you alone?”
I stilled to the point of fearing my heart had stopped.
“How dare you.” I came around the canvas at him. “How dare
you show up a few days ago and provoke and question me about my entire life.
You don’t know anything .”
“So you aren’t here avoiding all those people at the pool?
Avoiding watching Kent ooze his way around that cheerleader?”
“Why would I care what a group of people I hardly know
does?” I fisted my hands trying to make them stop shaking.
“You don’t care that the guy who turns on the charm for you
when he thinks no one is looking is doing the same thing for a bikini clad
cheer-dealer as we speak? You don’t care that every senior on the field today
is there but you?”
“I wasn’t invited, alright?” My answer echoed off the walls
in the sudden silence. “I wasn’t invited,” I repeated more quietly.
Luke stepped toward me. “Amy…”
I raised my hand again—protecting myself this time, not my
painting. “Don’t.”
“Amy, he isn’t worth it. I don’t know what’s going on, but
it obviously isn’t good for you.” Luke came toward me and didn’t stop this time
when I waved my hand in front of me. “He isn’t one of the good guys, and you
deserve the best. Even I can see that already.”
I had no idea I was crying until his hand came up and
brushed a tear away.
“Don’t do that,” he said. “Not for him.”
He looked like he wanted to do more, to say more, but that
word-searching look crossed his face again and he just stood there, looking
down at me, invading my sanctuary.
The too-much feeling washed over
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